Without a Word to the Eclipse
by priscilla penn
Summary: she was an eclipse In one moment, he sees her as something more than a silly red head with a crush on scarhead. AU DracoGinny 6th year.
1. prologue

Morning light was cast to shadow by the fluidity of her steps. Who was this? A Spectre? A woman? No, it was a girl. A girl she might have been, though her presence was too profound to be just some little girl.

When I looked at her I noted no imperfections, though I knew I had often seen many in her being before. Her imperfections weren't absent, now that I recall, just unimportant. She was an eclipse, so much to see in one moment and no way to without getting hurt.

As she passed me on the path, I thought to look back at her again, but I knew her enchantment would be gone, so I passed without a word to the eclipse, fearing and hoping she'd be just as rare.


	2. thoughts in the library

'What in the hell was that?' Draco thought to himself. He wondered briefly how someone like her could seem so awe inspiring one moment after a lifetime of plainness. What had happened to make her seem so graceful, deep and beautiful all at once? He hadn't seen her in a week since that time on the path, but she was stuck in his head. He didn't know what it was that made her stick to him like that.

What struck him when he considered and reconsidered every detail of the encounter was that she seemed to have something dark about her in the moment she had passed, but that couldn't have been it since she had been smiling and practically skipping about. He'd have to wait to see if it was just a fluke or if the torture was just beginning for him.

He heard the faint sound of Madam Pince checking books out to a student, which reminded him to look down at his charms book. "Wonderful, now I can't even concentrate on doing a damn non-verbal leviosa because of that girl." He said to himself with a muffled grunt.

An angry hiss from Madam Pince made Draco realize his grunt might not have been as muffled as he had thought. The few other students in the library at the time were giving him weird looks. Looking around he saw Potter, Granger and Weasley sitting with three huge stacks of books around them. Since it was Easter holiday and even Snape hadn't left more than a three-foot essay, He knew they must have been trying to save the world from Voldemort again. He prayed they would succeed.

It was hard to be a Malfoy during these times. He had grown up relatively happy but for the past seven years life had been hard. He pulled a letter out of his inside robe pocket. He'd read it already, but looking at the Gryffindors reminded him of it.

_Draco,_

_It is hard to write like this to you now, interceptions are happening more and more. Things are getting more tangled at home with our master. Protect yourself from those who would betray you, and remember behave as someone in your position should. Eyes are always watching, and we are never safe to be ourselves._

_Lucius Malfoy_

If indeed intercepted this letter would seem a normal enough letter from a Death Eater to his son, but it wasn't. Not many would catch the lower case 'm' in master and fewer would infer the lack of respect meant by it. The Malfoy's were not loyal to Voldemort. Lucius had realized halfway through the first war that Voldemort was too extreme. Unfortunately, he had magically bound his allegiance to the cause early on. He was bound as a Death Eater until his or Voldemort's death. He was one of few who were bound as such, but since he had been in the innermost circle at the time, he had taken the binding oath.

Murder had never been Lucius' intent. He wanted the muggleborns out of Hogwarts and into some other type of program. He believed muggleborns mixed in too much of their own culture and threatened traditional wizarding values and the safety of wizarding secrecy, but he never wanted them or muggles dead.

In the privacy of heavily warded secret rooms in the Manor, Draco had been trained from a young age to act as a follower of Voldemort, but he had been told the truth, and why he had to do so. Draco Malfoy, the boy who taunted Potter and called Granger a mudblood, was a lie. The ill tempered evil ferret was an image he had to keep and the only people in the world who knew what he truly was were miles away at the Manor while he kept up the act at Hogwarts.

Her face came into view behind his eyelids as he sleepily rubbed them. He felt guilt over what had been done to her in her first year. Maybe that was the darkness that drew him to her. At Voldemort's command, Lucius had given the enchanted diary to the first Hogwart's student he could. It had been the youngest Weasley, and it had been Draco's fault. If he hadn't stopped to insult Potter then she wouldn't have defended him and caused enough distraction for Lucius to put the book in her cauldron. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done about it because if he hadn't insulted Potter it would have seemed suspicious.

The whole year he'd had to fight off the other Slytherin's questions about whom the heir was when he had known all along. Goyle's father had been stupid enough to let Greg overhear him talking about Lucius setting the heir loose on Hogwarts. Obviously, Greg had told Crabbe, and the whole of Slytherin knew within a week that Lucius knew about the heir, so Draco was assumed to have known as well. Luckily, Lucius had told him to feign ignorance, and it was common practice for all Death Eaters not to tell anyone their plans especially uninitiated minors, so Draco was not pushed much after the initial questions.

He looked up again only to find her walking into the library and going to sit with the other Gryffindors. She wasn't the same radiant, perfect being he'd seen the week before. She looked tired and distracted before sitting with Potter's group she went into the stacks. Draco got up to get a Defense against the Dark Arts book that he didn't really need yet. He looked through the stacks and saw her on the other end of the third set of shelves. For a moment, he thought she was crying, but just as quickly he realized she made no sound, had no tears and wasn't moving in anyway to indicate crying. Then he realized she had that same effect on him again. She was totally captivating, and he just stood and stared for a few moments. She looked up, he walked halfway down the aisle towards her, turned to the third shelf of the right stack and skimmed for the book he'd come to get. In the periphery, he felt more than saw her shock, and then she just stared for a moment.

"Weaslette, there is a fine picture of me in the annual if goggling is what you are after, but if you are trying to hex me I recommend you rethink that since mudblood, Potter and brother dearest are halfway across the library, and I would have plenty of time to make you regret anything you'd try." He said casually without looking at her.

She didn't move or say anything at first then she just said, "You startled me, but I wasn't going to hex you," and started to walk away. I turned to look at her as she walked away only to have her turn around. Her eyes locked on mine and she seemed to falter as if in surprise, then recoiled a bit into a defensive mode, but she stood as if the situation didn't make her uncomfortable one bit. She was beautiful again, amazing to look at, but nothing was different. Draco didn't understand what could have been different. He looked away, found the book he needed, grabbed it and went back to the table he'd been using.


	3. Watching Weaslette

DISCLAIMER: JKR owns all but the plot bunny that has been holding me hostage.

AUTHOR NOTES: Sorry that it's taken so long for me to update… Writer's block met with a hard time in school. Anyway, I have a few chapters outlined already, and I have a really good idea where I want this to go. I can't really promise that chapters will be long or up often. I'm mostly doing this for myself, but if any of you like it let me know and I'll try my best to get things out there sooner. Otherwise I'm pretty much just going to be doing this on my own timeline.

LOOKING FOR A BETA/BRITPICKER: I'm trying to keep slang and anything I can think of that is overly Americanized to a minimum, but as an American it is somewhat tough to make distinctions on such things. I would love to have a Britpicker and a Beta to make sure I don't have a badly written, atrociously American, scourge on the fanfiction community. Anyone who is interested email me bsndiva3102 at yahoo dot com.

Chapter 2

She sat down with Potter and his friends, and he watched them from behind a curtain of blonde hair that fell in front of his face when he leaned down. To anyone who might care to look at him, it seemed that he was reading charms and occasionally writing notes. He was a dedicated student, so no one would ever question him spending hours at the library. He was there almost as much as Granger. He watched them whisper over several heavy tomes. Granger, Weasley, and Potter had two books each in front of them. She had one. She seemed outside the group even sitting at the same table, but he couldn't figure out why she did. She sat with them and looked to be part of the conversation, but something about it didn't feel like she was there. She seemed to be somewhere else, but that was impossible. She was talking to them. She whispered answers back to questions they practically mouthed to her. She laughed when Weasley and Granger turned red at something Potter had apparently unwittingly implied. None-the-less her eyes were dull. She looked and acted the part of the spitfire Weasley, but her eyes looked almost dead.

It was then that Draco took to watching her. He never sought her out in particular, but whenever she was around he'd watch her, and absorb the nuances of her behavior. She often really did seem happy and everything her blood had her destined to be; warm, caring, soft, fiery, and funny in a silly way. It didn't change the rare moments when her eyes were like looking into a bleak winter. He rarely saw her at mealtimes, but she never seemed to be hungry and she wasn't overly thin. She must have known a way to the kitchens or befriended a house elf that worked in the kitchens. Either way, she was never in the Great Hall when Draco was eating. Potter and crew generally were there at the same times Draco was. He watched them as well sometimes, but that had been a habit of his for years. Since he had started letting his hair loose, he always brought a book with him to meals. The purpose was two-fold; to be able to watch others, and to avoid talking to the other Slytherins. Draco liked his house, but it was difficult to be so malicious all the time. If he was reading he didn't have to speak, and if he didn't have to speak, he didn't have to be a prat to keep up appearances. When he had started bringing books to the table, He had told a few "close" friends in confidence that father insisted he best that damn mudblood in lessons or he'd never get Draco a new broom again. Consequently, no one in Slytherin ever questioned his withdrawal from the group to read again.

Draco had actually been reading his book at lunch when he looked up to realize that everyone at the Slytherin table was gone. Lunch was to end in ten minutes, and almost no one was left in the Great Hall. Looking to the Gryffindor table, he was surprised to see her sitting alone eating from a plate stuffed with more food than a Great Dane could comfortably eat, let alone a girl her size. He hadn't noticed when she had come in, but he realized that she must usually eat her meals when the Great Hall was mostly empty. Maybe it was because she was embarrassed by the amount of food it seemed to take to fill her, but she didn't actually look like she cared about that fact. He added, "Why does she eat alone?" to the mental list of questions he had about Ginny Weasley.

He didn't really think about it, but Draco started going to his meals early and leaving late just to see when she took her meals. After a week, the pattern became obvious. She took breakfast early, lunch late, and dinner early. For the first time since his first breakfast at Hogwarts, Draco woke up early enough to make it to the Great Hall just as the doors opened, and he continued to everyday after that one.


	4. Draco broods

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been a really long time and I don't have any idea if anyone is remotely looking at my stuff anymore, but here is a new chapter and some more information on Draco and how he thinks and everything so just keep reading if you like it and send out reviews if you do. As I've said earlier I'm doing this for myself so updates are sporadic if I find out a lot of people really like this though I might try more to get stuff out sooner. Otherwise I'm just going to write whenever inspiration strikes as I have been doing up until now (note that years do go by between bouts of inspiration without comments from others) I'm quite content with the way this story is going though. Anyway just a summary of what Draco is up to leading up to this chapter. Draco's been watching Ginny for a few weeks wondering what it is about her that has got him reacting so oddly. On this day He is just thinking to himself about everything else that is going on in his life even though Ginny is still in there somewhere.

**Chapter 3 Draco broods**

Children rarely know anything of nuance. I thought of all the energy I had used and animosity I had earned in my first few years at Hogwarts when keeping up appearances meant to me be evil all the time. I never once thought that Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were completely within limits. I realize my behavior was too much and I could have had a wider base of acquaintances and friends now had I not burned so many bridges in my first years. Funny how it took father's imprisonment for me to realize I was too extreme. Not one person outside of Slytherin spoke to me after that. I realized the whole school hated me, save the Slytherins. The only people I had to victimize and earn the animosity of were the Gryffindors. With that house's hatred my position would have been clear. Hell even just with Potter and Weaseley's displeasure I would have been set.

I had genuinely asked for Potter's friendship in first year. I misguidedly thought that if I got it I could be free of the pretense; I thought somehow he would be able to protect my family from the evil in which we were ensnared.

What did I know then? I thought he was an angel sent from above to save us all with superhuman abilities. Of course, I had to ask it so snottily. I'm glad now that the way I asked was so horrible that he refused me, but at the time it had cut me very deeply, so much so that I resented him for finding me unworthy. I was still young enough to not realize that he was just a boy and not the answer to my prayers. I hated him at the time. I felt like he had known what I wanted from him and had decided that I was to low for him. So the first few years most of my taunts and actions were fueled by this genuine dislike.

I realized shortly after father was sent to Azkaban that none of my life was Potter's fault. The way he carried the death of Sirius Black around with him showed me that he was not a golden hero free from evil, as I had always thought him to be. People he loved died, often for him. People who neared him were always in danger. Voldemort held Potter's life as much as mine even more actually. Voldemort was and is obsessed with Potter that much I know from father. The Death Eaters' plans all involve getting to Potter in one way or another. Voldemort'd be much more successful if he forgot his vendetta every once in a while. Then again who wants his success?

Currently father is at Azkaban reliving every horrible murder he's ever committed due to the dementors, though they are fewer and less gruesome than one might think. Father has only killed a handful of people, and only because Voldemort was watching him each time. That was the luxury that the masks provided. No one really knew who was responsible for what during the raids. Father leaves people seemingly dead and obliviates them. His victims never remember what befell them only that the mark was upon their home and somehow they survived.

Soon Voldemort will claim my soul too. After all I've been preparing my whole life for it. As the proud son of Lucius Malfoy, right hand to Voldemort it's been known for years that I would be… for lack of better words, brought into the fold. My time is coming soon, on the eve of my seventeenth birthday I am to be marked.

Thoughts of this plague me all my waking hours. So far my act has been enough, but I have not been asked to actually do anything yet. I can only wonder how I will react when that time comes. I'm not bound as father is. He pledged his loyalty not fully knowing what it truly was for and it's price. In his youth, a charismatic Tom Riddle has blinded him. Lucius was young and full of idealism and naïveté of what a magically separated world would be. Not realizing for one moment Tom's separation of purebloods from muggles fully intended the slaughter of those deemed impure and unworthy to learn magic at Hogwarts. Not knowing what Tom truly intended, and not knowing that the magic used to bind him would punish all his blood to follow were he to betray Voldemort, my father pledged loyalty to his Lord Voldemort.

Father wants me to run away and refuse Voldemort's service. He's never said so straight out because to do so would be a betrayal, but it is what he means for us, mother and I, to do. I cannot leave him alone. I want for us all to be safe, but only Voldemort's death can assure that.

I sit alone in the east tower, watching students at the lake. As they enjoy the warmth of the spring. Although I long for autumn and the crisp air that carries with it the scent of dried leaves and coldness. The warmth makes me feel like I'm lost somewhere I don't belong. I'm not a person who can enjoy the sun on his face. I'm not that carefree. As I gaze at the paths to and from the lake to the greenhouses and the pitch. As dozens of students cross going off every which way to their destinations I decide maybe a walk might be nice.

Heading toward the pitch where the least amount of traffic seemed to be, my thoughts linger on whether or not to take the mark or to run. I do not let my mind run to the idea of fighting against Voldemort because I know that will only force my father to fight me and one or both of us would die. No matter what would happen. If my father did not kill me we'd both die by his binding spell, if he did kill me he would have nothing left to keep his promise for. The only way I could survive would be to kill him and I don't think I could live with that. So I cannot join the light even if they would welcome me.

It's late afternoon as I step outside of the castle. Though it will be light for a few more hours, the sky is beginning its slow change of color. Most of the students are beginning their returns to the castle and the lively paths slowly empty as more students return to the castle to prepare for supper in the great hall. After about forty minutes of meandering the paths all the students are back inside, so I go to the lake to look out at the water. A person in Gryffindor robes is already there. A year ago I would have tormented this person until he left the lake all to me, but this is where my earlier discussion of nuance comes in. If he doesn't see me I don't have to make a fuss and I can just leave now and go somewhere else. Even if he does see me there are only three people that I can't get away with not making a comment to: Potter, Granger and Weaseley. I still have not decided to leave the person alone or not, so I just keep walking toward the lake and watching the form.

Decidedly it's a girl's form. Sitting against a tree three times her width, with her knees huddled in her arms. Looking stonily out at the lake, deep in her thoughts. I can only just see her hair peaking out of a big sun hat it's only then that I realize I've been staring at Weaseley. She's no different than the day she hexed me last year but I'd never seen her face without a passionate emotion on it. Her eyes are strong and emotive. She has a very defined facial structure that I have never noticed because she is always smiling or yelling. Her nose is small and slightly points up. It is almost too delicate for her strong cheekbones. Long eyelashes hood her dark eyes, and her mouth is set with slightly small but full lips that somehow are still on a delicate scale. She is a lean and feminine girl. Somehow, while being built on the tall side, she still evokes a sense of soft and petite feminine beauty. It is disarming to see her this way. With no smile, and no anger on her face to obscure the delicate beauty of her features.

Most boys at Hogwarts dream of getting her to notice them, but it is always because she has the aura of the fiery, lighthearted princess of spunk and naïveté. Looking at her here there is nothing bright and cheery about her. She was strength, grace, and intelligence. Brilliance shines from her, though I've never seen it before. She is beautiful, but somehow I know that this version of Ginny Weaseley is not supposed to exist. A girl of fifteen with a big loving family that is devoted to all that is good in this world should not have that stony look on her faces. She should not be sitting alone at the lake during supper, she should not look as though the weight of the world is resting on her shoulders and she somehow is holding it up just fine. This is what I've been seeing in her this strength and darkness all in one. I've been seeing the moments when she isn't what she is supposed to be. She captivates me, and I don't really know what to think at all since she is not the girl that the world has seen her as for years. How is a girl with such a charmed life so capable of looking so serious and sad?


End file.
